


Roundabout Suicide

by DoctorRainyStardusttheThird (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Guilty John, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Other, i need to stop procrastinating, just a little ficlet for ya'll, mary's not dead in this one, talk about suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 00:15:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15400743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DoctorRainyStardusttheThird
Summary: Sherlock and John are arguing at a crime scene when Sherlock lets slip that he never expected to return from his six-month mission.John doesn't take this very well.





	Roundabout Suicide

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea where this came from and i don't think it's one of my best fics...pretty bad actually. i need prompts! if ya'll want any stories written, leave ideas in the comments and i'll write 'em xx
> 
> hope u like :)

It had been two months since Sherlock’s massive overdose on the plane.

He’d been reinstalled at Baker Street, by an annoyed and worried Mycroft. John got the sense Mycroft felt guilty, though he couldn’t imagine why. Unfortunately, the elder Holmes brother’s concern meant doubled security measures, and Sherlock had taken to shooting down the hidden CCTV cameras in the flat when he was bored.

John was living with Mary, but he made a point to visit his friend every two days, sometimes more. He felt anxious, occasionally, when he thought back to the overdose. Sherlock hadn’t taken that much just because he wanted a high. There was a different reasoning behind it, but Sherlock certainly wasn’t about to share it.

Sherlock had been fairly busy the last two months. He’d been attempting to track the _Did You Miss Me?_ video through some strategic and illegal hacking, but it had come to nought. So he spent his days doing work for Mycroft, tracking terrorists and the like, and solving cold cases for Lestrade.

Today John and Sherlock were headed to a crime scene.

It had been Mary’s idea. She insisted they go, and to be fair, John needed it. John could feel the craving for an adrenaline rush, and even though they would merely be looking over a couple of bodies found in an abandoned house, it would be nice to get away from the clinic for a while.

Sherlock looked okay, John thought. As a friend. From a doctor’s point of view, Sherlock looked like hell – he’d lost weight, his cheeks hollow, and his eyes were heavily shadowed and slightly manic. But Sherlock always looked like that.

They climbed out of the cab and ran straight into Donovan.

‘Hello, Sally,’ Sherlock said pleasantly, looking her up and down.

 _Deducing_ her. Donovan’s mouth curled into a sneer.

‘Freak’s back,’ she said into the radio. Then she turned and faced him, raising an eyebrow. ‘High, I suppose.’

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stepped past her like she was inconsequential.

‘We all know, freak!’ she called after him. ‘You’re back on again. Lestrade won’t let you work here anymore. Did he invite you?’

‘Yes,’ Sherlock replied, without turning round. ‘Anderson’s daughter knows about your relationship with her father, by the way. I’d be careful.’

With that he made his way into the house, John following.

Sherlock solved it in moments.

‘Blindingly obvious,’ he muttered. ‘Hardly worth my time.’

‘Two people have been _murdered,’_  John pointed out, but Sherlock’s expression was vacant. ‘Hey,’ he said sharply, ‘are you listening to me?’

Sherlock didn’t reply. They made their way out of the front of the house, where the street was cordoned off with police tape and filled with milling Yarders. Lestrade, Donovan and a pissed-looking Anderson followed them out.

Lestrade dispatched a team to arrest the murderer, and turned round to find Sherlock and John having a full-blown row.

‘Sherlock, you have to tell me! If you’re _anywhere_ near that kind of thing again –‘

‘I’m clean, John!’ Sherlock’s voice rang out angrily.

‘That’s not how it looked two months ago!’ John countered, hands balled into fists.

The Yarders were watching with amusement. Lestrade looked concerned.

‘You never even told me why you took that bloody overdose! You could’ve died, you idiot! Does that even register? I would never have seen you again!’

‘You wouldn’t have seen me again anyway,’ Sherlock said coolly, his voice contrasting dramatically with John’s heated words.

John paused. ‘What do you mean?’

Sherlock averted his gaze. ‘Nothing.’

He turned on his heel to go, but John caught his arm. ‘It’s not nothing,’ he said quietly. Dangerously.

Sherlock looked round at the gathered Yarders, watching unashamedly. ‘Can’t we do this later?’

‘No, we can’t, Sherlock,’ John said. He sounded firm. No nonsense.

‘It doesn’t even matter, I didn’t even go on the MI6 mission!’

The Yarders exchanged surprised looks.

‘But something’s wrong. You and Mycroft are keeping something from me. I want to know why you took that overdose and I want to know _now.’_

Sherlock huffed a massive, irritated sigh. ‘Fine. It’s irrelevant now anyway. But if it keeps you off my back…I was going to die anyway, so I wanted to do it on my own terms.’

There was an even longer pause. ‘What do you mean, you were going to die anyway?’

Sherlock looked uncomfortably round at the assembled Yarders. Lestrade, who had an expression just like the one Mycroft always wore – exasperation and concern. Anderson and Donovan, who looked clueless, as per usual.

Why did John need to do this publicly?

‘Why do we need to do this publicly?’ Sherlock said.

‘Because you are Sherlock Holmes and you will pretend nothing ever happened unless I back you into corner and ask you again; what did you mean when you said you were going to die anyway?’

Sherlock looked at the ground. ‘It was a suicide mission,’ he mumbled. ‘I was going to last six months, at most.’

There was a kind of ripple of shock from the onlookers. John sent them a fierce glare, but his own shock was overwhelming.

‘What?’

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. ‘It was exile…or death. I chose the former, even if they were essentially the same thing.’

‘But – you said you’d _see_ me in six months,’ John said, reeling.

‘No, I didn’t,’ Sherlock said simply. ‘I said the mission would end in six months, give or take. And let you…reach your own conclusions.’

John’s expression turned stony. ‘You lied to me.’

Sherlock actually looked ashamed. ‘Yes.’

The Yarders were still staring. Gawping. Sherlock turned to them. ‘Can you all just not, please?’

They shuffled away like a many-headed entity.

‘John,’ Sherlock said softly, in an attempt to placate him.

‘No, Sherlock. I already lost you once…if - if I’d _known_ , I would never have let you step foot on that bloody plane!’ John yelled.

‘John, I think you may be overreact – ‘

‘Overreacting?’ John bellowed. Sherlock sighed. This was like returning from the dead all over again. ‘Did Mycroft know?’

Sherlock hesitated.

‘So he did. Great. What kind of brother could _do_ that? Send their own brother to his death?’

‘If it’s any consolation, he didn’t really want to.’

‘No, it’s not.’ John

‘Can’t we just go home, John?’

John sagged. ‘I was so close to losing you and I didn’t even know,’ he said quietly.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It doesn’t _matter?_ Sherlock, you signed your own death warrant when you shot Magnussen, just to keep Mary safe. To keep _us_ safe. Sherlock, that matters.’

‘John…’

‘I’m taking you back to Baker’s Street and I’m having a word with your arsehole of a brother.’

‘Mycroft had no choice!’

‘There’s always a choice!’ John yelled. ‘Get in the cab.’

Sherlock swung himself into the cab that had drawn up.

‘Hang on, you two,’ Lestrade called after them, but the cab skidded away.

The Yarders were excitedly gossiping about the argument, but Lestrade was busy thinking.

It had been a while since he’d seen those two back on a case together, and they seemed to be getting on pretty well again. But John did not deal well with Sherlock keeping secrets from him. That much was clear.

Lestrade rubbed his face and sighed. It’d been a long day. Maybe he should pop round Baker’s Street later and see how Sherlock was getting on.

Meanwhile, in the cab, the two friends were sitting in stony silence.

‘I’m sorry, John,’ Sherlock said eventually.

‘Yeah, well, you should be.’

‘I really am.’

There was a heavy pause. When John spoke again, he sounded slightly choked.

‘I lost you once. For two years. Those two years were hell, you know? Hell. And to find that I nearly lost you again and I had no idea…you’re my best friend, Sherlock.’ Sherlock still looked vaguely surprised when John said that. ‘I wouldn’t want you to die to keep my wife safe. That’s…not good, okay? A bit not good.’

Sherlock smiled at him. ‘It’s over now,’ he told him. ‘Moriarty – in a roundabout way – saved my life.’

‘Mm.’ The two men sat in companionable silence for a while.

‘You know, I never really told you that I’m sorry for beating you up.’

Sherlock looked confused. ‘You said you forgave me. In the train carriage.’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t apologise for hitting you the night you returned. That was uncalled for. I’m sorry.’

Sherlock nodded slowly, looking like he didn’t properly understand. ‘Okay.’

John grinned. ‘Arrogant git.’

Sherlock laughed and tipped his head back as the cab paused outside Baker’s Street. There may be a homicidal, psychopathic maniac roaming the streets of London, but as long as he had John, he was good.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u liked it :)
> 
> comments, prompts and kudos welcome xx


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